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| - A dull, starless night hung over the Insurrectionist camp, casting a veil of silent darkness over the deserted village they had made their home. The UNSC had drones and foot patrols scanning for any sign of life that might justify a bombing run, so the encampment was in a full-blown blackout. No lights that might have given off the outline of a rocket launcher or stolen Warthog were allowed; even the lookouts concealed their rifles under cloaks and ponchos. At the moment, the only visible gun in the area was the pistol that Redmond Venter was idly passing from hand to hand as he watched a shadow break away from a wall and approach him with a slow, uncertain trudge. He nodded in greeting as the boy he called Stray drew near. "About time," he said with a smile. Not that anyone could see it. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come." Stray didn't answer and Venter's eyes narrowed. This was it, the moment of truth. If the kid couldn't do this, he wouldn't be able to do half the things they'd need him to do in the fighting to come. "You have to do this," he reminded Stray. "You know what she did." Still no answer. "Yuri and Lambert are dead because of her," Venter continued. "She told those Marines where they were making the bomb drop. You know that, because you told us we could trust her. Said there wasn't anyone you trusted more." He shrugged. "But I understand. Shit happens out here. But we need to send a message. I'm not going for a public shooting, not with all the bad publicity that'll get. But there needs to be an execution." Flipping the pistol around, he offered it to Stray grip first. "And you're going to pull the trigger." A moment's pause. It was too dark for Venter to even begin to guess what was going on in Stray's eyes. Ten, without a word, the boy took the offered pistol and turned away. In moments the darkness had swallowed him up and he was gone. But there was no doubt at all; he would do it. And Venter smiled.
*
* He could still hear Chief Mendez's gravely bark echoing at him from the shadows. It had been a long time since the chief had been around to frighten him, but his muscles still tensed and hairs rose up on the back of his dirt-encrusted neck. There were a dozen things that he should have been afraid of, but tonight he didn't mind dwelling on the past. The horrors of then were infinitely preferable to what awaited him now. His fingers tightened around the pistol's grip. The enemy. He'd seen the enemies before, in the alien warriors who butchered whole colonies and tried to exterminate his entire species. Those had been the only enemies he'd ever known, until the UNSC abandoned him on Mamore and showed its true colors by slaughtering his friends. The UNSC was the enemy now. But now... His gut tightened as he neared the edge of the town. A small tool shed loomed up out of the shadows, padlocked and guarded by a single rebel. The man's profile nodded at him as he drew near. "Stray," he grunted. "The boss said you'd be coming." Stray. Venter hadn't given him that name and he hadn't come up with it himself. Emily had called him that, Emily had thought it up, Emily had given it to him. The name he'd shoved to the back of his mind came hurtling back into agonizing clarity. His palms moistened and he had to fight to put one foot in front of the other as he thrust himself towards the shed door. The guard unclipped the padlock and the boy who had been called Simon walked in, pistol at his side.
*
* She knew who he was, even with just the faint glimmers of moonlight to see by. He could see bits of her too: the ragged clothes, the dirty hair. The cuts and bruises where Venter's rebels had left their mark on her. Yuri and Lambert died because of her, Venter's words hissed in his ear. There wasn't anyone you trusted more... "Stray..." her voice was hoarse and strained. They hadn't given her any water since they'd locked her in here. Not since they'd beaten her within an inch of her life. "You came." He opened his mouth to reply, but his throat wasn't working. The pistol was a thousand times heavier than it should have been, weighing his arm down so that he couldn't lift it at all. "Stray," she said again. "I wondered... you were coming, I just didn't know when..." His mouth worked now, but each word felt as if it were tearing at his vocal cords as he forced it out. "But you knew I would." "Yeah." She seemed to be trying to get to her feet, but every time she pushed herself up she would simply collapse back down. "I knew you'd come. For me." "Yeah. For you." The gun came up now, inch by inch, until the barrel pointed squarely at her head. "For you." For a moment she didn't say anything at all, as if her brain needed time to process what was happening. Then she recoiled, pushing herself against the back of the shed as if distance alone could save her from the bullet. "Stray?" "You helped them." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You helped them." "Stray, what are you doing?" She raised her hands desperately. "I had to! They said they'd kill me if I didn't!" "Like they killed everyone else? Like the rest of Rat Pack?" "Stray, please, don't do this..." The gun trembled. He had to shoot. He had to do it now or he'd never do it. The memories flashed around inside his head and suddenly he was squeezing his eyes closed, trying to block them all out. "You should have stayed dead," he whispered. "It was better that way." He'd jammed a rifle in the ground, stuck half a dozen of them on the top of a dusty hill when he thought he was the last one left. Rat Pack's memorial, a small grove of rifles. That was how he wanted it to have stayed. That was how it should have stayed. "Stray, please, I love you..." He curled his finger around the trigger and took one last look at the cringing, broken girl who had shown him how to live without the UNSC. The finger twitched, quivered... And he took it away. Such an easy thing to do, not to pull that trigger. It was so simple, really. His body felt numb as he reached down and pulled Emily to her feet. "Come on," his mouth said. "Let's get out of here." She came without a word, but her tear-streaked eyes shone with hope as he led her to the door. Together, they pushed the door open and strode out into the night. Such a simple thing to do, to rescue her and take her away from it all. Stray stepped out into the night, and only then did he realize he was alone. He turned to see the door, closed behind him as if he'd never gone in. "Emily?" "Really? That's the best you could do?" He spun to see Mordred leaning against a nearby wall. Clad in SPI armor, the mercenary raised a metal finger and tapped his forehead. "Just take her and run away, huh? And what happens when Venter sends the whole garrison out looking for you? What then?" Stray looked about himself helplessly. "I saved her," he whispered helplessly. "I saved her." Mordred shook his shaggy head, grey eyes shining with contempt. "No you didn't. We both know you didn't." "No!" Stray turned back to the door just as the first pistol shot rang out. A moment later and two more followed. "Nice double tap," Mordred observed coldly. "That would have made Chief Mendez proud." Stray sank to his knees, his vision blurring. "No..." he said again. "No, no, no." "Yes, yes, yes," Mordred retorted. "You shot her. Once in the chest, twice in the head. Wasn't much left to look at after that. I wonder what Cassandra would think about that?" "Shut up," Stray sobbed, his fingers clawing the dirt. "Just leave me alone." "What are you so upset about?" Mordred demanded. "It made you feel good, remember? You finally made someone proud. Too bad it turned out he didn't give a shit about you, but what the hell." "Pathetic," Mordred sneered. "All you do is hide in the past, you worthless piece of shit. Always lying to everyone, always giving excuses. It's not my fault, Venter made me do it! You make me sick." Stray threw his head back and screamed. His head felt as if it were about to explode. The ache in his chest was eating him alive, tearing through his body like some ravenous disease. "Yeah, why don't you cry about it?" Mordred forged on ruthlessly. "Throw a tantrum and feel sorry for yourself, like you always do. Hate to clue you in on this, but none of this shit is ever going to change." He strode over and grabbed Stray by his hair, hauling him upright with cold, mechanical fingers. The boy writhed and struggled, unable to break free as he found himself staring into the mercenary's icy gaze. "You want to do something?" Mordred demanded. "She's fucking dead! And Venter's the one who made sure it happened. So what are you going to do about it, Stray? He's right over there! What are you going to do about it? Someone hurts you, you hurt them right back, or nothing ever changes!" "I, I don't..." Stray gasped, twisting to avoid Mordred's penetrating stare. "You can either kill the son of a bitch or you can let him fuck you up forever," Mordred continued. His prosthetic fingers tightened around Stray's head, as if he wanted nothing better than to crush the boy's skull. "What you did isn't going to change, and neither will the rest of the galaxy. No one's coming to save you from the past." "I tried," Stray whispered bitterly. "Please, I tried." "Try harder. You owe it to Emily." Mordred gave Stray one last look of contempt before throwing him down into the dirt. "You've lived this dream for too long. Time to wake up." Stray tried to get up, but something was holding him down. His arms and legs wouldn't move, and now his left arm was searing with pain. He watched in horror as the flesh writhed and burst as metal burst out from within to replace it. He opened his mouth to scream...
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